


Ain't like that

by to_the_lighthouse



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Bipolar Disorder, Dubious Consent, Implied abuse, M/M, Near Future, Strong Language, Swearing, Trigger warning: Emotional codependence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-11 19:50:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2080974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/to_the_lighthouse/pseuds/to_the_lighthouse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shot dealing with the lengths Mickey is willing to go to in order to help Ian. Being Mickey, he's unaware that he might be doing more harm than good. Lip finds out and tries to help. </p><p>Trigger warnings for readers who have experienced emotional, physical and/or sexual abuse, though this story only deals with the aftermath of such experiences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please be advised that this piece of fiction deals with aspects of aggressiveness that can - but do not have to - occur in patients who are bipolar. This story may trigger flashbacks for people who have experienced emotional and/or sexual abuse, even though there are no graphic depictions of violence or abuse in the story. There are some studies that indicate that violent behaviour is common in mixed and manic phases in about 40-50% of patients with this type of disorder, which of course does NOT mean that people with mental disorders are prone to violent behaviour. Ian is not in character in the sense that he does not act like the Ian we have come to know and love, which in a sense is in character considering his bipolar disposition. Mickey does not view Ian's behaviour as a form of abuse, at least not consciously, and allows and encourages his behaviour. And while it can be considered abuse, it does not necessarily have to be construed as such. I wanted to write this story because people with loved ones with mental disorders often support their loved ones in ways that are ultimately damaging. Mickey, as a victim of continuous violence and of sexual assault, has no real sense of where his boundaries lie, so he thinks this is normal. Ian, on the other hand, regrets his behaviour as soon as he realises what has happened.

Mickey pushes himself up from the floor. There's something warm trickling down the side of his face. He tries to push himself into an semi-upright position, because he's a Milkovich and fuck if he's gonna stay down like some bitch. But the room's spinning out of control, and he must be concussed or something 'cause there's bile in the back of his throat, and damn it all to fucking hell if he's going to throw up now. So he lies back down and curls up in a fetal position, trying to minimize the damage.

"Fun", he whispers to himself, "Fun. Fucking fun."

Svetlana isn't at home at the moment, and he can only thank God or whatever else bullshit leprechaun luck decided to come his way that she isn't here to point out that she told him so. He can't quite remember where she said she was going, but she took the baby with her. He still needs to get out of here, though. Won't do to have Mandy find him when she gets back. So he clenches his teeth and gets up, gingerly stepping over the broken beer bottle in his way to collect the clothes from the couch. He topples over, falls to his knees and pushes himself back up, swearing. There's a sound behind him, a door opening, and an all too familiar rush of panic. Then he hears a voice he most definitely wasn't expecting to hear. Wasn't hoping to hear, either.

"Jesus, Milkovich, what happened? Terry back?" Lip Gallagher asks with a sharp intake of breath.

Mickey turns around too quickly, and stumbles over his own feet. For a moment he thinks he's going to fall down face first to land at Philip Gallagher's feet, and wouldn't that just be the fucking cherry on his shitty sundae. Lip, however - clever boy that he is - is there before he can fall and steadies him. There's an air of nonchalance about him as he pushes Mickey to the couch, ushers him to sit down, moves over to the TV to collect the scattered clothes lying there and tosses them over to the beat-down excuse for a pimp. All the while, there's a lit cigarette dangling between his lips. And it speaks volumes about both their jadedness, Mickey supposes, that all he does in return is awkwardly get dressed without getting up, that he then pulls out his own pack of cigarettes from the back of his jeans and extends a hand in a tell-tale gesture for Lip to toss him a lighter. Which Gallagher does. They're in some weird Southside synch.

"So, Gallagher, what the fuck are you doing here?" Mickey asks after a while, while trying to get the lighter to work.

"Came to check on Ian", Lip responds, and doesn't bat an eyelash when the lighter jolts in Mickey's unsteady hands, "you gonna tell me what the fuck's going on?"

"Manic phase", Mickey responds after a while, slowly breathing in smoke and something far more bitter "at least he ain't depressed no more."

"He in?"

"Nah, went to the Kash and Grab… might go to the club later, but he'll be back before. You wanna leave a fucking message or you gonna stay and wait?"

Lip lifts an eyebrow. Mickey gives him a challenging look.

"And you're cool with this?" Lip finally asks, "Him going to the club… and stuff?"

"No", Mickey answers, averting his eyes, trying to hide something he's sure Lip has already noticed, "But what am I gonna do 'bout it? I'll be there to keep an eye on him I s'ppose. Got someone keeping a lookout whenever Ian's out without me. Don't want him to feel like he's… like I'm his keeper or somethin'."

Lip moves towards Mickey slowly, crouches in front of him to better see his face. Cocks his head to the side.

"Don't think you'll be able to go anywhere. You're still bleeding. What the fuck, man? So you get assaulted while Ian's out for two minutes? You've gotta get cleaned up, what's he gonna say when he gets back?"

Mickey looks away. Lip's going to notice. But it's too late. Lip already knows. He realises. He pulls back and gets up, denial on his face, eyes wide with it. Like Ian's used to get, way back when. Lip's cigarette falls from his mouth, and Mickey barely manages to stomp it out with his hand before the couch catches fire.

"What the FUCK, Milkovich?!! What the fuck's going on?"

Mickey wants to get up and punch the whiney little bitch, tell him it's none of his fucking business. He wants to get out of this room, crawl back into the bed and back into his own skin. But try as he might, he just can't get up. His head is spinning and the nausea hits him again.

"Ian… oh my God…", Lip breathes in slowly, "What… how… you had…"

"Shut the fuck up, Gallagher", Mickey growls, "It ain't like that. He got a bit overenthusiastic, is all. I was into it."

Lip looks at him, and fuck his damn powers of observation.

Mickey shrugs, "Well, I didn't tell him I wasn't at least."

"How long has this shit been going on?"

Mickey can't help but shiver when he thinks of it, but he's being a pussy and he knows it. He tries to shrug it off, swallows a couple of times and looks back at Lip.

"Not long. First time it ever got this bad, though. Sometimes he forgets what's going on or somethin, he's just so into it, and me too… and fuck you, Gallagher, it ain't like that. Ain't like I'm protestin'."

"Milkovich, for fuck's sake", Lip replies, "Ian, the real Ian, he wouldn't do this. You know he wouldn't. You've gotta get him on medication. He's never going to forgive himself for this, you know that."

"I hit him", Mickey says softly, swallowing. He looks up at Lip and quickly adds: "Not today, but before he left. I hit him. I'm not the goddamned victim here. He's got the bipolar shit because I didn't take care of him when..."

"Fucking hell Mickey, I would've noticed if you hit him so badly he couldn't stand anymore."

"Jesus, Gallagher, it's better than him hurting himself. I can take it. It's no big fucking deal. And I fuckin like a little pain, if you need to fuckin know."

Lip raises his hands in frustration. "Are you, FUCK, are you even listening to yourself? I can't believe I'm saying this to you of all people, Milkovich, but you're no one's punching bag. Not even Ian's. Especially not Ian's. Ian fucking LOVES you. He's probably already messed up about this. Like, more messed up. Fuck, you've gotta stop acting like a little bitch and give him his life back. You need to let this be taken care of."

Mickey gives a bitter little laugh. He feels so miserable and drained that it's laughable, so that's all he can do, really.

"Look, I know what it looks like, man, but it really ain't like that", there's an uncharacteristic softness to his voice, "I stop him before he goes too far, normally. S'not like… Look, I know it looks kinda bad, but you don't know shit. I like it… ya know… this time I liked it a lot and then it went… look, I let him. I let him vent, okay."

Lip closes his eyes. He looks like he's going to say something really stupid. There's intensity in his eyes once he opens them again. "You can't keep doin' this, you know that."

Mickey sighs and closes his eyes. "Yeah man, I know. But it's like… I guess I think he's gonna figure it out." His vision is losing focus again. "I'm gonna … pass out man", he tells Gallagher, "Fuckin' leave or fuckin… stop talkin'."

Then, thankfully, darkness swallows him once more.

When he wakes up again, it's in his bed. He's been cleaned up and, he notices, is wearing a fresh t-shirt and jogging pants. Someone even bothered to patch him up. And there's another someone sobbing next to him. It takes a moment before he can adjust to the artificial light in the room. The blinds are down, he notices. He automatically moves towards the warmth next to him, automatically curls his arm around the sobbing mess that he knows is Ian. "Shhh, it's okay… m'okay", he soothes, whispering nonsense words into Ian's hair until the sobs subside and the shivers start. It takes an hour, maybe two, for Ian to finally calm down and sink into a restless sleep, breathless apologies still on his lips. Then Mickey gets up, gingerly. Dizziness is still plaguing him, but he can get up from the bed and wobble unsteadily into the kitchen.

"Lana?" he calls. No response. When he gets to the kitchen, he finds the other Gallagher kid still there, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Hey, what the fuck you still doin here?", he asks nonchalantly, and reaches for the fridge to get a beer. Lip Gallagher steps in and closes the fridge door before he can get the beer out.

"Shouldn't be drinking when you're concussed", he chides, "Svetlana is at a friend's place with the baby. At least that's what she said. Came back home just when I was moving you and my hysteric brother to the bedroom, said something about not being able to handle this shit."

"Fuck you, you ain't the boss of me. And Svetlana's a big girl", Mickey snarls, but there's no real malice there. Just exhaustion, "Didn't need your help."

"Sit down", Lip says, rolling his eyes at Mickey's words, and Mickey, unable to stand any longer even if he wanted to, ungracefully stumbles over to one of the chairs and takes a seat. Lip lights a cigarette.

"There's this thing", he says between intakes, looking Mickey directly in the eye, "It's called codependence."

Mickey hates lectures. This is going to be a lecture. And he can't fucking run off or punch the motherfucker either. Damn them Gallaghers.

"It's like… when someone has a mental illness, certain types, their partner sometimes makes it worse instead of better. Not on purpose, just", Lip continues, unfazed by the death threats in Mickey's eyes, "they wanna help. It doesn't work. They do more and more. At first it ain't that bad. Then they give up more and more. Until they give themselves up entirely. And you know what the worst thing is? They force their partner into some kinda fucked up role, let them fall off the wagon and lose their personality entirely. It just makes everything worse."

"Point being? You think I'm a fuckin' pussy?", Mickey challenges, but again, his voice is weak, cracking, even. What's happening?

"Point being, Ian needs professional help, Mickey. You're not equipped to fucking deal with this. We know this shit. We know how it goes and what it can cause. That's why we KNOW that you can't deal with it by yourself."

"You don't… you don't… know… shit…", Mickey hisses, but his vision is blurry, it's becoming difficult to breathe, and damn it if this isn't a panic attack. It's been a long time since he's had one of those. It ain't like that, he wants to say. It ain't like that. So why the hell is he crying?


	2. Repercussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow-up to "Ain't like that". Ian and Mickey try to come to terms with what happened. Lip is still trying to help out. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for readers who have experienced emotional, physical and/or sexual abuse. Flashbacks to such events; nothing too explicit, though. The violence in this is more explicit.
> 
> Additional Tags: Lip/Amanda (mentioned), Lip/Mandy (referenced)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is more Ian centric, but the same warnings still apply as for the first chapter. Please be advised that readers who have experienced emotional, physical and/or sexual abuse may want to steer clear. There's nothing too explicit in this, but there are some heavy implications and the violence *is* more overt. Please read the notes for the first chapter.

"Ian…Ian… come on, man", Mickey sits down next to Ian on the bed and extends a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from his boyfriend's forehead, "Please… just…" But Ian doesn't respond, because he can't respond. He's trapped in his mind, replaying the same event over and over again.

_Ian has been staring at his reflection in the mirror for over ten minutes now. He simultaneously hates and adores what he sees there. He loves the way he looks today: His gelled back hair, the depth of his eyes and the near-translucent quality of his skin. He hates the lies he can see just beneath the surface of his irises. There's a strange sense of palpable energy in the small room. Something's going to happen, something needs to happen. The mirror is cracked, and when he smiles his smile is shattered into a thousand pieces in his reflection. This isn't right. This can't be right. He's bursting with energy, and at the same time he's at a complete loss because he doesn't know what to do. It's frustrating beyond belief. Without thinking about it, he pulls his arm back and punches the mirror full force. It's strangely satisfying, the cracking and the searing pain, the immediate trickling of blood, and he almost doesn't hear the sound of Mickey's voice. Mickey is swearing bloody murder as he tears the door wide open. For a moment, Ian had nearly forgotten that Mickey's removed all the locks in the house, and he's startled out of his thoughts. Ian turns to look at Mickey, whose eyes are almost impossibly wide with pure, blatant fear for a split second._

_"Jesus, Ian", Mickey mumbles and reaches out for Ian's bloody hand, but Ian doesn't want that. He pulls his arm back from the mirror roughly and pushes Mickey back into the hallway with equal force. He presses him to the wall and kisses him thoroughly, grinning when Mickey can't help but groan. Mickey puts a hand onto Ian's chest to gently but firmly push him back: "Gotta get your hand checked out, you fuckin' maniac." Something in the way Mickey phrases that makes Ian furious._

_"Not now", Ian hisses angrily, "Want this… need this…" Mickey wants to protest, but Ian is roughly pushing him further down the hallway, into the living room, kissing him, licking him, stopping to forcefully slam him into the wall from time to time and push his tongue down Mickey's throat. At one point, Ian's balance is slightly off, he pushes a bit too forcefully and Mickey's head hits the wall with a crack. Blood starts oozing from Mickey's head, but Mickey just grunts and pulls Ian into another kiss. It's easier to get Mickey into the living room now that he's dazed. "Clothes off", Ian orders, and Mickey is struggling to comply, swaying on his feet ever so slightly. Ian gets impatient, somehow manages to tear Mickey's shirt off and push him roughly over the small table in front of the couch. He pulls Mickey's pants and boxers down, thinks he can here the boy whispering: "Fuck, yeah". There's an open bottle of beer on the table next to them. Ian pulls Mickey's arm back behind his back until Mickey is groaning in pain. He doesn't know what he does that for. Perhaps to better get a hold of the beer. Perhaps because it makes his own hand, which still has some minuscule mirror shards impaled in it, hurt even more. And pain is good right now. It makes him feel *real*. He pours the beer out over Mickey's ass, laughing breathlessly when Mickey hisses in shock at the sensation. Mickey tries to pull away then, but Ian just pulls his head up by his hair to slam it back down onto the table. Ian knows that Mickey likes it rough._

_"What the f… Galla…", Mickey doesn't manage to get another word in._

Mickey sighs and gets up. He's not going to get a word out of Ian in this state and he knows it. He spent most of last night talking with Lip and coming down from the mother of all panic attacks, and he feels utterly exhausted. Lip turned out to be really good at handling panic attacks - because of Debs, he figures. Once he's gotten up and dressed himself, the nausea hits him full force again and he barely manages to get to the bathroom in time to puke his guts out. He's reminded of the other concussions he had. There was the one when he was five and he fell down the stairs while fighting with his brothers. The one when Terry got really angry for the first time, when he was around seven, and slammed him into the kitchen counter. One when he was about fourteen and he tried to step in for Mandy - to prevent what he knew happened regularly when he wasn't around - and got beaten to a bloody pulp for his efforts. He couldn't get up for weeks afterwards. Mandy took good care of him, though. And then, finally, there's the concussion he had as a result of getting beaten and pistol-whipped after Terry found Ian and him fucking in the living room. Mickey can feel panic rising in him again and has to breathe in deeply through his nose to try and prevent the onset of another attack. He wouldn't want to pass out now.

When he's finally done his stomach is completely empty, and he finally realizes that there's someone standing behind him. Svetlana sent him a text message late last night to let him know she'd be staying at her friend's with Yevgeny for the next couple of days. Mandy came in yesterday at some point while he was hyperventilating, and he vaguely remembers her exchanging a few words with Lip. So Mandy's a viable option.

"You okay?"

That isn't Mandy's voice.

"What the fuck's up with you, Gallagher?" Mickey asks while unsteadily getting back up and flushing the toilet. He moves to the sink to clean himself up and turns to look at Lip, face still wet, "You planning on moving in? Because if so, rent's two hundred dollars."

"Two hundred dollars?", Lip replies incredulously, "You serious? For this shithole? Nah, man, thanks for the offer and all, but I'm just gonna stay in college if that's okay with you."

Mickey shrugs. "Suit yourself."

He tries to move past Lip, but Lip gets a hold of his shoulder and turns Mickey's face to have a look at his eyes.

"Still unfocused", he says and lets go just before Mickey finds the momentum to take a swing at him, "You really should get this checked out."

Mickey can't help but laugh at that. "Aww, it's real sweet that you're concerned and all, but don't get your fuckin' panties in a bunch now, Gallagher; ain't the first time I hit my head, won't be the last time."

Lip sighs and lights a cigarette while Mickey moves to the couch to half sit, half lie down.

"Any change in Ian from yesterday?" the older Gallagher asks after a while, and Mickey remembers not to shake his injured head in reply and instead answers with a gruff, "No. Still in bed."

"Well, did you get round to thinking about what you're gonna do next?" Lip asks.

"I ain't gonna put him in no psych ward, if that's what you're gettin' at", Mickey replies, "it ain't fuckin' gonna happen."

Lip sighs, takes another drag from his cigarette.

"Okay, man, but something needs to be fucking done", he finally says, "At least have him talk to someone professional. Perhaps they can send someone to check him out here."

Mickey lets Lips words sink in for a while, then forgets that he shouldn't be moving his head too much and begrudgingly nods, which immediately sends a sharp flash of pain through his head. He can see the relief permeating from Lip at his response.

"And while you're at it", Lip adds, "you might as well get yourself checked out. I've seen a lot of panic attacks, man, but yours, fuck. Don't even know what to say."

"You, speechless? Never thought I'd see the day", Mickey grumbles, "And mind your own fuckin' business. We all need counseling, but in case you haven't fuckin' noticed, ain't exactly Beverly Hills around here. You done now?"

"Just about", Lip replies, "I'll just help you get settled. Amanda's picking me up in two hours."

"Who the fuck is Amanda?"

"She's… never mind."

Lip starts bringing the living room into relative order and gets Mickey a glass of water, ibuprofen and a sandwich. He rolls a joint, lights it up and places it into Mickey's hand. He leaves to check on Ian, comes back and puts a kettle of water on. Mickey watches him in silence for a while, blowing out smoke rings, strangely comforted and yet very much creeped out by how surreal the whole thing is.

"Ey, Gallagher, why the fuck are you doin' this?" he asks when Lip sets down a cup of tea on the table in front of him.

Lip stops dead in his tracks and looks as if caught red handed lifting money from a shop. Well, at least what Mickey imagines people lifting money from a shop would look like if they weren't Southside.

He turns to face Mickey, with the third cigarette of the day dangling from his lips.

"What do you think? I'm taking care of your sorry ass for Ian's sake." Mickey knows how to spot lies. Even the good ones, which this one definitely isn't. At least it's not the whole truth. The look on Lip's face makes things click into place in his muddled mind. He remembers Mandy saying she didn't need Lip's help, and Lip insisting she didn't have to give up her shift. Mickey can feel himself getting angry at the thought, somehow, because he doesn't want Lip screwing around with Mandy and pushing her further into Kenyatta's arms, but the flash of raw emotion vanishes almost instantly. If Lip is willing to go the extra mile on this and take care of him for Mandy's sake, he might not be quite as much of a stoned shithead as Mickey thought he was.

"Yeah, if helping Ian turns you into my slave for a day, have at it, man", Mickey finally says.

"Fucking Milkovich", Lips replies, sounding relieved more than anything else.

They don't talk much after that. Mickey can soon feel his eyes fluttering shut, a mixture of weed, meds and the concussion taking its toll.

When Ian wakes up, it's almost six pm. He's feeling shaky, the same memory still firmly replaying in his mind when he shuts his eyes. After another half an hour, he feels ready to get up. He feels desolate and desperate, but it's not the same desperation that had him chained to his bed until last week. This one's more immediate somehow, tied to the yesterday's events and wrestling with the nervous energy still coursing through his body. This desperation is made even more immediate by the fact that Mickey's not there with him. He remembers all too well...

… _Mickey's unfocused eyes staring up at him in the wake of what he's just done. He's been crying, but Ian doesn't think he's aware of it. Ian doesn't know what to do, and the boundless energy is still coursing through him, anxious and desperate now. Ian doesn't want this to be true. He needs to get away. He doesn't know how. He paces around the living room. He can't think, can't concentrate. He tears at his hair, trying to find a moment of peace of his mind._

_"I'm going to the Kash and Grab", Ian finally says, "before I go to the club, okay?"_

_Mickey still hasn't moved. He doesn't look like himself. He looks like… He looks like he did that day, sitting on the couch and waiting for Svetlana to arrive. Defeated. Ian can't tell what he's thinking. It's driving him crazy…_

…and Ian feels sick to his stomach. He gets dressed and makes his way to the toilet to get himself cleaned up. He trudges to the kitchen afterwards, clenching and unclenching his hands all the while. He moves to get some milk out of the fridge, and that's when he picks up on the noises from the living room. He walks over to the couch in quick steps, and sees Mickey lying there. He's jerking back and forth and breathing unsteadily, with eyes clenched shut and sweat on his brow. Ian swallows the lump in his throat and kneels down beside his boyfriend. He moves to touch Mickey on his shoulder, trying to gently shake him awake.

"Hey, Mick", he murmurs. Mickey's eyes fly open and move hectically from side to side. He's still breathing harshly, not quite awake yet and still caught up in his nightmare. He recognizes Ian, and makes a quick, unconscious movement. It takes a moment for Ian to realize that Mickey is flinching away from him, and when that realization hits, it feels like the world just exploded and left him standing in its ruins.

"Mickey", he whispers again, and Mickey blinks and looks at him, finally seeing him.

"Hey, Ian, c'mon man, don't cry", Mickey says softly, and reaches out for him.

Ian can't help it, the tears come automatically. His overwhelming sense of desperation is struggling to dominate his restless energy, which is still bubbling anxiously just beneath the surface. There are too many emotions at once, and all he can do in response is sob, shaking like he's standing in a Siberian winter in his underwear. Mickey pulls him into his arms, shushing and soothing him, and it's all so wrong. Ian tears himself away, and looks into Mickey's eyes.

"Mickey, I'm so sorry", he manages to get out, "Please, fuck, I... please, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry 'bout it, okay?" Mickey replies immediately, "I'm fine. Don't need to be apologizing. "

"Mickey… FUCK! Are you fucking kidding me?" Ian jumps back, and Mickey is surprised at how alike he and Lip can be at times.

"I'm fine. Jesus, Ian. It wasn't all good, not gonna lie, but I'm fine now", Mickey groans, exasperated.

"You sure about that?" Ian hisses in frustration.

"Yeah, it's all good."

Before Mickey has the chance to say anything else, Ian leans forward and kisses Mickey roughly, threading his hand through his boyfriend's black hair possessively. He pulls them back: "Still fine?"

Mickey nods, "Yeah, this is good." Ian wonders if Mickey knows how his eyes betray him sometimes, at least where he's concerned.

Ian pulls Mickey's hair back more roughly, exposing his neck, and softly bites the skin just above his Adam's apple. He feels the nervous intakes of breath beneath his hand where it's lying on Mickey's chest. Ian moves to straddle the other boy, rendering him immobile, and he doesn't have to go any further for the panic to set in his boyfriend's eyes. He immediately pulls back. Mickey is subconsciously pulling his arms in around him, trying to make himself a smaller target. He doesn't move much, no whimpering, no signs of distress, only that distinct emptiness in his eyes as he tries to block out the here and now.

"No, Mickey", Ian chokes out, "it's not okay."

Mickey pulls himself together again a second later, and stares at Ian. For a moment it looks like he's going to admit to the obvious, but that moment quickly passes. His eyes become hard and determined again.

"Fuck you, Ian. It's fine", he manages to spit out after a while.

"Yeah, Mickey, you're fine", Ian shoots back angrily, "You're fine, I'm fine, we're all fucking fine." He moves to grab is jacket from the hanger.

"Where're you goin'?" Mickey asks, and there's fear in his voice.

"To the club."

Ian is about to leave, has his back turned and can feel the nervous energy twitching inside him, screaming to be freed. And then he hears Mickey moving behind him, struggling to get up. He turns around, and Mickey is staring at him. And although it's impossible to read his expression, Ian knows exactly what he's trying to say.


End file.
